


Miracles

by Thimblerig



Series: The Lion and the Serpent [30]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Blasphemy, Crimes & Criminals, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Minor Character Death, Religious Imagery & Symbolism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-08
Updated: 2016-10-08
Packaged: 2018-08-20 07:40:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8241614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thimblerig/pseuds/Thimblerig
Summary: “I've little thought for theology.”





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [megs](https://archiveofourown.org/users/megs/gifts).



> Prompt fic for Megs: "If it fits with your pathos, maybe an incident where Aramis actually does shed a few tears and some emotions get away from him -- with Athos and/or Porthos in attendance?"
> 
> (Set somewhere between chapters 11 and 15 of "The Kindness of Strangers".)

“That’s still theft,” Athos pointed out, pacing back and forth, the afternoon light dim through the canvas.

“But the Sacro Catino never left the cathedral!” Aramis protested, pen still scratching on rough paper as he translated a letter at Athos’ table. The days spent out of sight, waiting for Porthos, had been a sore trial until Athos had unearthed a sheaf of captured correspondence, which kept Aramis’ hands busy, and his mind active, and saved Athos’ guns from a fifth thorough cleaning. Aramis went on, unconcerned, “We just... kept it out of sight for a few days. What are a few extra copies, here or there?”

“A multiplication of holiness, then,” said Athos, very dry, “The miracle of loaves and fishes come once more.”

“It was a stratagem of elegant construction," said Aramis, grinning. "And besides, it wasn't truly the Holy Grail.”

“And you know that how?”

The steady scratch of the pen stopped; Aramis’ air of sharp edged humour absent as if it had never been.

“Aramis?”

“I am not a man deserving of true miracles,” Aramis said quietly, curling into himself, “wicked sinner that I am. But the girl should have lived.”

Athos stopped his pacing, lifted a hand, dropped it.

He was still relearning Aramis: finding what settled him and what earned a bite, or what would send him into a peculiar stillness, wide-eyed and innocent, pliant as a snake caught about the middle. Athos had never been good at providing comfort. As he watched, the other set down his quill and raked fingers through his wild hair, dislodging the ribbon that tied it and spilling it about his ears.

“What happened, Aramis?” Athos sat and caught Aramis' hand where it rested on the table, rubbing his thumb lightly across the inner wrist. Aramis kept his eyes down.

“Once there was a girl, cursed with a large inheritance and the misfortune to live in a city as packed with poisoners as a hay barn collects rats. And two thieves stumbled across her situation and thought, _Hey ho, we shall meddle.”_

Aramis lifted his free hand and wiped at his eyes in two swift jerks.

“And they meddled... to no purpose. At the end of all the harrying and skarrying her heart was just tired. Athos. Tell me it was hubris.”

“It was not hubris.”

“Tell me pure souls are blissful in heaven.”

“I've little thought for theology.”

“Tell me -”

“That a battle was lost does not make it without worth to fight.”

There was ink smeared on Aramis’ brow. Athos brushed at it. With a sigh Aramis closed his eyes and turned his face into the palm of his hand.

“What was she like?”

“I hardly knew the Contessina, not really,” said Aramis seriously, eyes still shut. “She was very sweet, and shy, and imperious when she forgot to be shy. She had much loving-kindness for a poor devil come to visit in the dark hours.” Small grooves showed in his cheeks as he smiled slightly. “I made her laugh.”

“She liked you, then.”

"I believe so."

Athos hesitated. He was not good at providing comfort. "That a friendship was brief," he said finally, "does not make it without worth to have."

He did not know if it was the right thing to say. But Aramis leaned into his touch for a long time. 

**Author's Note:**

> You can find more pieces of the not-a-grail story and the poisoned girl in the “Genoa” stories. My chief source for Il Sacro Catino, including a tale of replicas being made, was this: http://www.csicop.org/si/show/in_search_of_the_emerald_grail
> 
> **
> 
> I'm really sorry for fridging you, Contessa Margharita. (On the other hand, Kitty is just fine baking pies and I swear Wilhemina the Plot Moppet is having a wonderful time in Ruritania...)


End file.
